Lightening
by Cleo Calliope
Summary: What happened to Doyle after he got his first vision and before he was assigned to Angel?
1. Lightening

Lightening

  
  
Title: Lightening   
Author: Cleo Calliope   
E-mail: [Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com][1]

Rating: PG-13   
Spoilers: Hero and Bachelor Party, only for the information   
that we learn about Doyle's past in those eps.   
Keywords: Angst, Pre-A:tS 

Archiving: Doyle: The Lost Years, my site Byers'Girl's Fanfic   
Archive ([http://www.envy.nu/byersgirl/][2]), Legion Denial,   
if they want it. Anyone else, please ask. I'll probably say yes. 

Summery: What happened to Doyle after he got his first vision   
and before he was assigned to Angel? 

Feedback: Do I really have to beg? 

Author's Note: OK, this is hopefully going to be the first in a   
series starting shortly after his first vision and tracking all   
the way to the events of 'The Bachelor Party.' 

Thanks: Special thanks to Ellen for coming up with the title and   
to her and Jeanne for beta reading for me. Also thanks to Joey   
for introducing me to the AngelSlash chat room, and to my dear   
Presence for making me start watching Buffy and Angel even   
though I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to.   
  
  


  
  


> Light. 

> It was the first thing that he was aware of as he slowly made his way toward consciousness. The next thing he was aware of was pain. Everything hurt. The pounding in his head sent a rhythm of agony throughout his body. He struggled for a moment to hold on to the numbing darkness, but it was slipping away too quickly. 

> Sound began to intrude now. He could hear his neighbors arguing through the paper-thin walls and the hard bass of music from somewhere down the block. It all added to the pounding inside his skull and his stomach rolled. 

> He wasn't sure how he managed it, but somehow he struggled out of bed and into the bathroom before his stomach heaved, emptying its meager contents into the toilet. Another morning spent praying to the porcelain god, he thought wryly. At least he thought it was morning. It could be afternoon. Hell, he didn't even know what day it was. 

> He grabbed the side of the sink and pulled himself up. Turning on the water, he washed out his mouth and splashed some cold water on his face. He looked up into the old, cracked mirror as he turned the water off. 

> Allan Francis Doyle had thought himself fairly good-looking at one time, but at the moment he looked like shit. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, while his skin was pasty white. He turned away from the reflection in disgust; there was nothing there that he wanted to see. He stumbled back to bed and carefully lay down. Last night must have been some party, too bad he couldn't remember any of it. But then that was the point wasn't it? He drank to forget. To forget who he was… what he was… what he had done. 

> He almost winced at that last thought. It had been nearly two months since the demon had come to him for help. Two months since he had refused to become involved. 

> He'd lain awake all night after the demon had left, wrestling with his conscience and with the revulsion he felt towards the family ties the demon had claimed. Sometime the next morning someone had knocked on the door and he had gotten up to answer it. He had never found out who had knocked. As he walked to the door it had struck. He still didn't know quite what it was, or how it happened. It had been like a bolt of lightning in his head, he had seen and felt everything as the demon who had come to him, and the others of his kind were massacred in a few bloody moments. He had come to himself again lying on the floor, his head pounding to the echoes of screams. 

> He had never been as frightened in his life as when he crept into the building he had seen in his vision. He hadn't wanted to be there, but he had to know. It had been day outside, but he had needed a flashlight inside the windowless building. 

> He groaned softly and rolled off the bed. He needed some aspirin and a drink. What he didn't need was to think about what he had seen that day. The bodies of men, women, and children. The children… they the worst. He'd seen a little boy just about the age his students had been before he had quit teaching. He remembered finding a pair of shoes on the floor. Shoes too small even for a child… the right size for a baby or a toddler. He would never forget sitting on the floor of that cold building holding that pair of shoes in his hands. 

> No! He would not do this. He would go crazy if he kept thinking about it. He stumbled into the kitchen and found a mostly full bottle of whiskey. Forget the aspirin. This was what he needed. 

> He opened the bottle and drank deeply. He was long ago inured to the burn. He drank nearly a quarter of the bottle as he stood there. Finally he leaned against the counter and studied the dirty floor. This place was a mess, but what else was new? He felt a little better for the drink. Maybe he'd go to the pub tonight. See what games were going on. Maybe he could make some money. Enough to get some decent liquor to drink himself into oblivion with. It was the only peace he knew anymore. When he was drunk, his guilt and self-loathing faded into nothingness. 

> He had always been fond of a good drink. He was Irish after all… well, half Irish. But he hadn't known that then. He would have a drink sometimes in the evening, and once or twice on special occasions he would have a tad too much. Who didn't? He had even seen Harry have a bit more than she could handle. 

> He winced. Gods, he finally stopped thinking about the damn Brachen demons only to start thinking about Harry? It still hurt whenever he thought about his wife. She had walked out nearly six months ago now and he was beginning to wonder if the pain would ever ease. He had loved her, still did love her, so very much. Their wedding day was one of the happiest days of his life. And the year that followed had been as near perfection as could be had on earth. It had shattered so fast. How could his mother have kept the truth of his father and his heritage a secret from him? At twenty-one his life had ended. He hadn't even known that demons existed until he had become one. His father, who he had never met, had been a demon and his mother had never told him. Waiting to see what he had inherited from him, she had raised her son human, with no knowledge of the creatures that shared the world with them. Harry and he had been talking about having children when his demon half asserted itself. Needless to say, that had been the end of that discussion. And not too long after, the end of their marriage. 

> He had wanted to get the hell out of San Francisco. To get away from his mother and away from the memories of Harry and the life that he had once had. He had wanted to get as far away as he could. He'd only gotten as far as Los Angeles. But it was a big city where no one had known him. It had been easy to lose himself here. No one knew his past. Allan Francis Doyle had disappeared and Doyle was now in his place. And in time, maybe he'd be able to forget that he had ever existed at all. 

> He laughed. Yeah, right. And maybe pigs will fly out my arse. What was the matter with him today anyway? He grabbed the aspirin off the counter and swallowed a few with another swig of whiskey, then glanced at the time. It was a little after three in the afternoon. He still felt like shit, but a shower would help with that. 

> A shower and change of clothes later and he almost felt human again. This thought produced a laugh tinged with bitterness and regret. 

> He walked three blocks to his favorite bar and spent a fairly profitable evening. He actually won a bit of money, then promptly spent most of it on drinks. A stop at the liquor store on the way home relieved him of some more of it. 

> He stumbled in about three o'clock in the morning. He wasn't nearly drunk enough for his taste yet. But he had some stuff in his bag that would take care of that. He set his purchases on the kitchen counter and shrugged off his jacket. 

> After a visit to the little demon's room he retrieved his cigarettes and lighter from his jacket pocket. He was about to light one when it hit. 

> His body convulsed as the sudden agony in his head blocked out the world around him. This vision didn't last as long as the first one had. When it stopped he found himself on his knees leaning against the coffee table, with a very clear message in his mind. 

> Two names, two faces, and two places and times. The first was a large black man by the name of Jonas. The second was a small Asian woman by the name of Nancy. Jonas would be at a bar the next morning at ten. Nancy would be at a restaurant that night at eight. Nancy was going to be in trouble and Jonas was supposed to help her. 

> What in all the Seven Hells was going on? Well, the only way to find out was to be at that bar the next morning. Doyle didn't like this. There was something very wrong about all of this. But somehow he knew that he would be at that bar in the morning. Because he needed to know. Just like he had needed to know about the demons, he now needed to know if Jonas would help Nancy. He needed to know if they would even be there at all. 

> He needed to know that he wasn't entirely crazy.   
  
  
  
  
  
The End… for now   
  
  
  
Feedback keeps the musing singing.   
[Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com][1]   
  
  
  
  
  


   [1]: mailto:Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.envy.nu/byersgirl/



	2. Lightening II: What Lies Beneath

Lightening II: What Lies Beneath   
  
Title: Lightening II: What Lies Beneath   
Author: Cleo Calliope   
E-mail: [Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com][1]

Rating: PG-13   
Keywords: Angst, Pre-A:tS   
Spoilers: None   
Feedback: Do I really have to beg?   
Archiving: Doyle: The Lost Years, my site, Byers'girl's Fanfic   
Archive ([http://www.envy.nu/byersgirl/][2]), and any   
of Ellen's other sites. Anyone else please ask first. Like I'm   
really going to say no. {g}   
Summary: Doyle's vision leads him to a new calling. 

Disclaimer: Doyle belongs to Joss and company, even though   
they obviously don't love him as much as I do. Life just isn't   
fair. Don't sue me, all I have are books and student loans. 

Notes and Thanks: The second in the Lightening series. It takes   
place right after Lightening. Brilliant concept, I know. Special   
thanks goes to K4man for betaing and to Ellen for her constant   
encouragement. You guys are the best. 

Dedication: To Teresius, a sweet, little Hooded Rat, who died   
too soon. Mommy misses you, Terry.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


> Lightening II: ?   
by   
Cleo Calliope   
  
  
**********   
  
  
Bars are always depressing sights in the morning. The beer signs glowed dimly in the weak daylight that slanted in through the holes in the black paint over the windows. The air was heavy with stale cigarette smoke and the thick wax on the bar and tables couldn't hide the stains. There were very few patrons. An old man in shabby clothes sat hunched at the end of the bar intent on his beer, a couple of business men sat near the front windows arguing softy over the files spread out on the table between them. And in the farthest corner a slight man with dark hair sat with an untouched beer watching the door. 
> 
> He couldn't believe that he was actually doing this. He must be out of his mind. He should leave, Jonas wasn't coming. He doubted that the man even existed. Of course he didn't exist. It was stupid to think that he did. This whole thing was nuts. Just one more thing to show that he was loosing his mind. But despite these mental arguments Doyle continued to sit right were he was. A couple minutes before ten o'clock a very large black man entered. He stopped just inside the door scanning the room with a hard, impassive gaze. When his eyes came to Doyle it was all the half-demon could do to hold his gaze and not shrink back. The man turned toward the bar after a few eternal moments. 
> 
> Doyle looked down, struggling to bring his breathing under control. It was Jonas, just as he had seen him. His mind was whirling. This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening. But it was. All right, Jonas was real. He was here. So what? What was Doyle supposed to do? Walk up to a guy nearly three times his size and say, "hey man, I saw these pictures in my head of you. You're supposed to go save some lady tonight." The guy would probably kick his ass, and that was the best case scenario. He shouldn't have come. 
> 
> Doyle was so lost in these thoughts that he didn't hear Jonas approach until the larger man pulled out the chair across from Doyle and sat down. Doyle straightened up and watched him warily. 
> 
> Jonas studied him silently for a moment. "You the new guy?" 
> 
> "Huh?" _Brilliant Doyle, just brilliant._
> 
> Jonas' expression, or complete lack thereof, didn't change. "Do you know me?" 
> 
> Doyle nodded. "Think so." This was surreal. "Yer names Jonas, yeah?" 
> 
> It was Jonas' turn to nod. 
> 
> Doyle released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and leaned forward. "Then answer me this. What the hell is goin' on!?" He struggled to keep his voice down, but no one else was paying any attention anyway. 
> 
> Jonas looked incredulous. "You mean you don't know?" 
> 
> Doyle shook his head. "No idea. I can't even figure out why I'm even 'ere." 
> 
> "Do you have a name for me, or a place?" 
> 
> Doyle felt like he was falling. Reality had stepped out when Jonas stepped in and he wanted badly to go chasing after it right out of this bar. He didn't move. He sat quietly for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Both and a time." Then his brow furrowed as Jonas' earlier comment came back to him. "An' what do ya mean new guy? An' how'd ya know tha' I was gonna be here? Do you get 'em to? The… ya know..." He motioned to his head, not knowing what to call them. 
> 
> "Visions? Not a chance," Jonas looked disgusted by the idea. "I'm a warrior not a messenger." He spat out the last word like a curse. Then he took a deep breath and a large swig of his beer, then leaned forward. "OK, listen up cause I'm only goin' to go through this once. You did something, screwed up. Got someone killed maybe?" 
> 
> Doyle paled. For a moment he was back in that room again, the stench of death around him and a child's shoes in his hand. He shook the memory off and looked at Jonas warily. "How'd ya know 'bout that?" He asked in a rough whisper. "I never told anyone about that." 
> 
> Jonas looked smugly satisfied by Doyle's reaction and Doyle began to think that he really wasn't going to like this guy. "Were in the same boat, my man. Tryin' to make up for whatever it is that we did. The PTB's decide…" 
> 
> "The what?" Doyle interrupted. 
> 
> "The Powers That Be. There're the ones who are sending you those visions. And they are gonna keep sending 'em to you 'til they feel that you've paid for your mistakes." 
> 
> "When's that gonna be?" Doyle was disliking this set up more by the second. 
> 
> Jonas snorted. "How the fuck am I supposed to know? Will you just shut up and listen? The bottom line is that you don't have a choice in the matter. From now on, you're a messenger. You get visions of people who need help. I'm a warrior." Jonas pulled out a pen and wrote something down on a napkin and pushed it across the table to Doyle. "That's my number. When you get a vision you call and tell me who, what, where, and when." 
> 
> Doyle picked up the napkin and looked at it then back up at Jonas. "Then what?" 
> 
> "I go help them. That's my job." He sounded tired and somewhat bitter. 
> 
> "How long you been doin' this?" 
> 
> "Too long," Jonas answered grimly. 
> 
> "What 'appened to the other guy?" 
> 
> "What other guy?" 
> 
> "You said that I was the new guy. Did... did the old guy, ya know, get forgiven?" 
> 
> Jonas gave a sharp laugh that made Doyle wince. "No, she got dead." 
> 
> "Oh," was all Doyle could seem to manage for a moment. His stomach seemed to drop somewhere around his shoes as the bile rose in his throat. It was an odd sensation. He didn't like it. "What a minute here. What's so dangerous 'bout these visions? How'd she get killed?" 
> 
> "By getting involved in my side of the business. You want to stay alive then remember this. You're an answering service. That's it. You don't try to get involved in the fancy stuff or try to be a God damn hero." 
> 
> Doyle almost laughed. "Don't worry 'bout that. I'm not the hero type. I'd like to try and stay alive for a while yet." 
> 
> "I don't really give a shit whether you want to live or not. Just stay out of my way." 
> 
> They were quiet for a few moments. Then Jonas seemed to shake himself out of whatever thoughts had claimed him. "So, what's my assignment?" 
> 
> Doyle looked up from his contemplation of his still untouched beer. "Oh right." He patted his pockets for a moment before asking, "Mind if I use your pen?" He should have written all this down when he first got the vision, he thought as Jonas handed him the pen with a slightly annoyed expression. Bastard. Doyle felt an odd urgency that all the information be exactly right as he wrote it down on another napkin. _Nancy. The Carousel. 8 o'clock tonight._ Well, he'd remember to write it down immediately next time. He ignored the stab of panic he felt at the thought that there would _be_ a next time and pushed the napkin across to Jonas. 
> 
> "The Carousel is some sort o' restaurant from what I could see," Doyle said as Jonas glanced over everything and then folded the napkin and put it in his pocket. He drained the rest his beer and rose to go. 
> 
> "Have you ever seen someone get forgiven?" His quietly voiced question stopped Jonas in his tracks. He was still for a moment, half turned away from Doyle and Doyle studied his profile closely. Looking for any indication of anything. But Jonas' expression didn't change and gave nothing away. 
> 
> Then Jonas turned toward him. "No. I've seen two other warriors die and I saw my messenger die, but I've never seen redemption granted to anyone while they were alive. What happens after they're dead, I don't know." 
> 
> The complete lack of any emotion in Jonas' voice was as terrifying to Doyle as what he had said. Again came that smug look from Jonas, pleased that he had disturbed Doyle and Doyle's Irish pride asserted itself with a vengeance. There was no way in hell that he was going to let this SOB see how much this was scaring him. 
> 
> Doyle leaned back comfortably in his chair and gave Jonas a half smile of his own. "Life's a bitch and then you die, eh?" 
> 
> Jonas gave a snort that could have been a laugh and turned to go. 
> 
> Doyle's bravado lasted until Jonas was out the door. Then it evaporated and he slumped into his chair. The hands that reached for his beer shook badly and he drained it quickly. He couldn't seem to think, his mind was entirely blank. He just kept seeing Nancy in his mind, knowing that she was in danger. Then suddenly it wasn't Nancy anymore but Harry whose eyes widened in fear of something he couldn't see. He shook his head not wanting to see that. 
> 
> He rose unsteadily seriously needing something more to drink. Only then did he realize that Jonas never had told him how he had known that Doyle would be here today, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know anymore.   
  
  
  
**********   
  
  
  
If he was losing his mind before, it must really be gone now. 
> 
> Doyle stood leaning against the darkened window of a closed hair salon, smoking a cigarette, watching the nice restaurant across the street. To all outward appearances he was calm and in control. The effort that it took to keep his hands from shaking didn't show and no one in this neighborhood got close enough to see the haunted look in his slightly bloodshot eyes. The few people who walked by kept their distance and either pointedly ignored him or gave him lofty looks as if to remind him that this was a place for respectable people, not trash like him. _I used to be respectable,_ he thought. He remembered saving his meager teacher's salary for months to buy Harry a real diamond ring and bring her to a nice restaurant, much like this one, the night he proposed. Only a few short years ago. It might as well have been a lifetime it was so far away now. 
> 
> Now he stood waiting for two people who he had not even known existed until this morning. He took a deep draw at his cigarette, trying to calm his nerves. What he really needed was a drink. He hadn't been this sober in months. After his beer when he met with Jonas this morning he had left the bar, although he desperately wanted to get smashed, and had wandered the piers for most of the day, trying to figure out what was happening and trying to convince himself not to come here tonight. 
> 
> _The last messenger got herself killed by getting involved in this side of the business,_ he kept reminding himself. That argument hadn't worked. 
> 
> _I ain't gettin' involved,_ he thought back. _I jus' have t' know all this is real._
> 
> _You met with Jonas, man. Talked to him. He was there and real. Who cares about the rest?_
> 
> But that argument hadn't flown either. In the end he knew that he had to see for himself what was going to go down here tonight. Then he could go home and drink himself safely back into oblivion. 
> 
> He had been there for over an hour now and it was still a half an hour before the appointed time in his vision. The dinner time crowd was thinning out and the evening crowd was beginning to arrive. 
> 
> The Carousel was not the kind of place that attracted the stars and the true "upper class" of LA. It was like the neighborhood itself, desperately respectable, and trying hard to be what it wasn't. Its art deco wannabe façade, red carpet and awning matched the clients, who came in their very best fake diamonds and furs. A place where appearance was everything, no matter what lay beneath. The middle class came here to pretend that they were upper class. Tourists came here trying to capture the feel of the LA glitz. At one time Doyle had been no different then them. He was poor, but he and Harry would save up for special nights and places like this. It had been fun, now all he could feel for the Carousel was disgust and a certain sad resignation. One could appear to be anything, but in the end, what you really were was all that mattered. He wasn't human, despite how he looked most of the time. And the Carousel and its clientele would never be high class, no matter how many coats of paint and layers of make-up were applied. 
> 
> Doyle was pulled from his thoughts when a quick movement caught his eye. He turned his head and the odd feeling of reality kaleidoscoping over took him again. 
> 
> A young Asian woman, probably in her early to mid twenties, was running down his side of the street. She didn't get to where he was standing, but, glancing quickly both ways, darted across toward the Carousel. Doyle hadn't paid any attention to how Nancy had been dressed in his vision, but now he noticed that she was wearing a white blouse and black dress-pants. _Standard waitress uniform,_ he thought. Her black hair was cut in a short bob ending at her jaw in a very practical fashion. As she reached the restaurant she nodded to the doorman, who scowled back, before she ran down an alley along the side of the restaurant. 
> 
> When she disappeared from sight the shock that had held Doyle still released him and, dropping his cigarette he quickly followed after her. He was careful to stay in the shadows and to attract as little attention as possible. 
> 
> The alley was dark, except for a floodlight at the end of it about fifteen yards ahead, where it opened into a little courtyard. He was just in time to see Nancy disappear into a door under the floodlight marked "Employees Only." Doyle stepped into the doorway of the building next to the restaurant, near the mouth of the alley. From this vantage point he could see both the street and the courtyard. He really wasn't sure what he was watching for exactly, but he got the feeling what whatever was going to happen, wasn't going to happen inside the restaurant. 
> 
> He waited, watching the guests coming and going in the front, and the busboys bringing their trash out to the large dumpsters in the back. He couldn't help but smile at the irony of it. What had he been thinking earlier about what lies behind the façade? 
> 
> At about ten 'til eight, Jonas arrived. He was dropped off in front by a woman, who Doyle couldn't get a good look at, in a small, blue Toyota. He had changed into slightly better clothes, a black turtleneck and black jeans. Not the perfect clothes for someplace like the Carousel, but nice enough to get him in. Jonas got out of the car and shut the door. He leaned back in to say something to the woman driving then turned and disappeared inside the Carousel as the car left. Doyle continued to wait. 
> 
> A few minutes after eight Nancy came out the back door into the courtyard. There was a rather fat, middle-aged man with her. She seemed very agitated as she turned back to the man and began to speak. Doyle moved closer, keeping to the shadows, trying to hear what was being said. 
> 
> "…but you know how it is," Nancy said, pleadingly. "Next month, I promise. Rose never meant for things to get so out of hand, it's just that…" 
> 
> "I really don't care what Rose meant to have happen," Her companion interrupted. "I think that I've been more than patient with her and now with you." 
> 
> "Yes," Nancy said. "You have, and I really appreciate it, Mr. Dunning, but…" 
> 
> Mr. Dunning continued as if she hadn't spoken. "The point it that I want my money, or I want Rose back. Ten thousand dollars, that was the deal. So, where is it, Miss Tan?" 
> 
> "I told you that I'd be happy to pay in monthly installments. I can give you two hundred tomorrow and…" 
> 
> "Two hundred?" Dunning looked incredulous. "That doesn't even begin to touch what Rose owes me. I lost a lot of money when she left. You know how popular she was." Dunning leered at Nancy. "All this unpleasantness could be so easily avoided if she would just come home," he said in a reasonable voice. "Where is she?" 
> 
> Doyle was close enough to see the look of disgust that crossed Nancy's face before it was replaced by the contrite expression of before. Money trouble, that was something that Doyle had been becoming intimately familiar with lately. 
> 
> "I'm sorry, Mr. Dunning, but I'm not at liberty to say. Rose will not be returning. I can get you your money, but I can't get you the whole sum just yet." 
> 
> Dunning shook his head. "Not good enough, Miss Tan. Not nearly good enough." 
> 
> "I'm sorry, but it's all I can do. I just don't have ten thousand dollars." 
> 
> "That is unfortunate," Dunning said as he motioned with his hand toward someone behind Nancy, out of Doyle's sight range. Nancy turned and her eyes widened in fear. Doyle swallowed as his vision took shape in front of his eyes. 
> 
> Nancy backed up, nearly into Dunning who stepped back out of the way with a smirk. At that point a large, gray demon strode into site. Doyle swallowed again and pressed himself farther against the wall. The demon suddenly moved forward and grabbed Nancy by the arm spinning her around, so that she was standing with her back against him, facing Dunning. 
> 
> "I had hoped to avoid this," Dunning said, although the smug look on his face said otherwise. "Since I don't see my money, I will ask you one more time. Where is Rose?" 
> 
> Nancy was fighting to slow her breathing, and Doyle watched as she forced the fear out of her eyes with an iron control. She spoke calmly, "I won't tell you." Doyle was impressed. At this point he would have told them anything they wanted to know. That demon wasn't there for show and the way he was holding her arm looked like it had to hurt. 
> 
> It was then that a movement in the shadows behind Nancy and the demon caught his eye. Doyle had been so wrapped up in watching the little drama unfold that he hadn't seen Jonas. He was moving carefully up behind the demon, keeping to the shadows to avoid Dunning's observation. 
> 
> "Too bad, Miss Tan," Dunning's self-satisfied smile convinced Doyle that he hadn't noticed. Good. "Oh well. I assure you that we will find Rose, there aren't that many places she could go. You, on the other hand, have earned yourself a one-way ticket to the morgue. How very tragic." Dunning turned and went back inside the restaurant. Just at the door clicked shut, Jonas sprang, catching the demon in a strangle hold from behind. The demon bellowed in surprise and tossed Nancy away like a rag doll in order to fight this new threat. 
> 
> Nancy landed hard a few feet away from Doyle. He only hesitated a moment before coming forward to kneel down beside her. "Are ya alright?" 
> 
> Nancy groaned softly in response, but raised herself up on her elbows to look at him. She then glanced behind her and gasped. Doyle followed her gaze. Jonas and the demon were engaged in an all out battle. Someone had produced a nasty looking knife and they fought for dominance of the weapon. 
> 
> Doyle reached out to Nancy and taking her lightly by the arm, careful to avoid the place where the demon had held her, certain that it had to be bruised, and pulled her to her feet. 
> 
> "I'm thinkin' that it might be best for us to get outta the way," he said quietly. Nancy looked back to him, and glancing again at the fight, she nodded, and the two moved quickly back down the alley to the street. But before they got out to the street, Nancy stopped. She seemed to have regained her composure. She looked back at the fight yet again, then turned to pierce Doyle with an intense stare. 
> 
> "What's going on? Who are you, who is he, and why are you helping me?" 
> 
> Doyle looked away. "Well… uh…" 
> 
> She folded her arms across her chest. "And don't give me an 'it's complicated' excuse either. I'd heard that one too many times." 
> 
> Doyle shrugged. "OK, but can we get outta here first?" He asked, glancing nervously toward Jonas. He really didn't want Jonas to finish with the demon only to start pounding on him for showing up where he wasn't supposed to be. 
> 
> "What the hell," Nancy said, after a moment. "This job sucked anyway. I'll come back for my things later. Come on." She turned and walked purposefully out to the street. With one last glance at Jonas, who seemed to have attained the upper hand in the fight, Doyle followed, for the first time wondering what he had gotten himself into by getting involved.   
  
  
  
**********   
  
  
  
They ended up in a little coffee shop a couple of blocks away. Nancy had left her purse back at the Carousel and so Doyle paid for her tea, and then sat fidgeting while she carefully prepared it with cream and sugar. She took a small sip, and finding to her liking, took another before setting it down and piercing Doyle again with her dark eyes. "I want a complete explanation." 
> 
> Doyle shifted uncomfortably. "Aren't you supposed to be grateful to someone when they save yer life?" 
> 
> "Normally," Nancy said, not in the least bit perturbed. "But this felt just a little too contrived, as if you knew I would be there. How?" 
> 
> Doyle sighed and looked out the window at the people and cars passing by. "We did know, but its no' what ya think." He could see Nancy's reflection in the widow raise an eyebrow questioningly. He looked back at her and for the first time met her gaze squarely, without flinching. "I'll tell ya everything," Doyle said in a low voice, "as long as you promise no' to interrupt before I'm done." Nancy nodded in agreement and Doyle began his story. 
> 
> It took nearly a half an hour to tell her everything. It felt good to tell someone about it, although he wondered if it sounded as crazy to her as it did to him. Out loud the story seemed even more unlikely than it had in his head. He left some things out, of course. She didn't need to know what he had done to warrant earning atonement. He was careful not to look at her as he spoke. He watched the people outside, come and go. Nancy said nothing and sometimes it almost felt like he was talking to himself. When he was finished there was silence for a moment. Doyle finally turned back to look at Nancy. She was watching him with a completely impassive expression. If it weren't for their sizes, and ethnic backgrounds, and well… everything else, Nancy and Jonas could be a matched pair. Their faces gave nothing away. 
> 
> "Ya probably think I'm nuts, yeah?" 
> 
> Nancy gave a small smile after a moment. "I was just attacked by, what I can only assume, was a demon. I don't think I'm in much of a position to judge anyone's sanity at the moment." Doyle couldn't help smiling back. Then it was Nancy's turn to look out the window. "When Rose spoke of demons and the like, I though she was tripping," she mussed softly to herself. 
> 
> Doyle's ears pricked up at the mention of Rose. He leaned forward. "Who is Rose, anyway. I heard you talkin' about her to that Dunning guy. Why do they want her so bad?" 
> 
> Nancy frowned and looked back at Doyle. "This isn't really about Rose at all. They don't want her back as much as they want to save face. Rose is my cousin, the only family that I have in the United States. Rose wasn't her original name, but she decided to adopt an American name when she came over from Taiwan six years ago. She was only eighteen and didn't speak any English. Not surprisingly, she had trouble finding work. How she met up with Dunning and his crew, I don't know. They took her in, giving her food, clothes, a place to sleep. They also gave her her first taste of some drug. I don't know what, but it was highly addictive." 
> 
> Doyle remembered Dunning's comment about Rose having been "popular". He nodded sadly, leaning back in his seat. "Think I've heard this story before. She's gotta pay for her next fix, and the one after, an' soon they got her doin' whatever they say, just to get her kicks." 
> 
> Nancy nodded. "That's about right. She worked in a… house of ill repute, owned by Mr. Dunning. 
> 
> "She was a hooker, ya mean," Doyle said, smiling at Nancy's careful phrasing. 
> 
> Nancy gave him a chilly glare, which only served to make Doyle's grin widen. "I was trying not to be crude, but that's beside the point." She waved it away with a motion of her hand, trying to hide her amusement. The amusement disappeared again quickly. "The point is that she was stuck there for four years. I had no idea where she was, until she called me three months ago. She wanted out and had made an arrangement with Dunning that he would let her buy out the rest of her contract." 
> 
> "Worth ten thousand dollars?" Doyle asked, though it sounding more like a statement. 
> 
> Nancy nodded. "Precisely. Rose was frightened though. What Mr. Dunning didn't know was that she was pregnant. She wanted to seek treatment for her addiction in an attempt to protect her child. You see," Nancy looked down at her now empty teacup for a moment before continuing. "Dunning didn't really believe that she would go. Rose had asked to leave before, but her addiction always forced her back to him. But she was determined that this time would be different. She called me and asked me to come and get her. To take her someplace where she could get the help she needed. I picked her up the next morning and took her to a small private clinic outside of the city. And… well, I'm rather sure that you can guess the rest from what you overheard earlier." 
> 
> Doyle nodded. "Dunning wants his money, or preferably Rose. The way he sees it, her leavin' sets a bad example, yeah? He can't find Rose, so he goes after you, knowin' that you know where she is." 
> 
> "That sums it up nicely," Nancy confirmed. "I've been trying to come up with as much of the money as I could. Rose needs this chance, and her baby shouldn't have to pay for her mistakes. Unfortunately, that meant quitting school for the time being. These last two months I've been working three jobs, and I still haven't come up with even half of what he wants." 
> 
> They were silent for a moment each lost in their own thoughts. Then Nancy sighed, getting Doyle's attention back. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you and… Jonas did tonight, I do. But in the long run it doesn't solve the problem." 
> 
> "Dunning ain't the type to give up," Doyle agreed. "Okay," Doyle caught and held Nancy's gaze. "Do ya have a plan as to how to get outta this?" 
> 
> "Not as such. I've located another hospital that would take Rose in upper New York State. I would like to transfer her and move there myself. The only problem is that Dunning has had me followed all the time lately. I can't even visit Rose without him discovering her whereabouts." 
> 
> "That's easily taken care of." Both Doyle and Nancy jumped at the intrusion of a third voice into their conversation. Doyle turned slowly as his heart sank into his shoes. Jonas grabbed a chair from another table and seated himself. He didn't look at Doyle at all, but concentrated solely on Nancy. "If I could get them off your back, how long would you need to get yourself and Rose out of the state?" 
> 
> Nancy thought for a moment. "A day, maybe two. I don't have very much to take with me and Rose has nothing at all. I would need a day or two before hand to make the necessary arrangements with the hospital and for my own accommodations, but I can do that from my apartment." 
> 
> "Or from mine?" Jonas asked. "I think it would be best if you were not left alone until you're safely out of California. That demon is taken care of, but Dunning could easily send someone else. Would you be able to collect your things and abandon your apartment tonight?" 
> 
> Nancy nodded. "Yes, certainly. I'm mostly packed. I've only been waiting for the right opportunity to present itself." 
> 
> "Okay." Jonas turned around and nodded to someone. Doyle turned to see a tall, if slightly plump, woman walking toward them. He was willing to bet that she was the same woman he saw in the car earlier in the evening. He hair was black and her skin was a light café au lait color. She looked exotic, although Doyle couldn't place where she was from. Like Jonas, she studiously ignored Doyle. He couldn't help remembering what Jonas had said that morning about him being an answering service and nothing more. 
> 
> "This is my wife, Maddy. She'll take you out to the car. I'll be with you in a moment." Maddy took possession of Nancy's hand and bore her out of the coffee shop. 
> 
> Doyle swallowed. He was in for it now. 
> 
> When Jonas turned to him his face was as expressionless as ever, but his eyes were smoldering. "I thought I'd told you to say the hell out of my side of things. You fucking idiot, I had to waste time looking for her, time that I could have spent getting her out of LA! Are you a fucking retard? You take the messages, I help the people. What part of this don't you get?" Jonas' voice was quiet, but the violence in it was barely restrained. 
> 
> During Jonas' tirade, Doyle's nervousness had changed to anger. When he spoke his voice was just as low, but just as furious. "You ain't me boss, man. I'm free t' do whatever the hell I please. I wanted to see what was gonna happen, so I went. I even stayed out of yer way when you was fightin'. So what if I decided to get the lady to safety!" He stood up then. "Ya know what, I don' care. You can go t' hell. I don' have t' sit here an' listen to you chew me a new ass hole. I'm more that jus' your answering service, bud. If yer so good at all this why don't you have yer own bloody visions?" Without waiting for a reply Doyle walked out of the coffee shop.   
  
  
  
**********   
  
  
  
He didn't know the neighborhood very well, but it didn't take him long to find a bar. It was one of those trendy places for tourists, but it was a good place to start. By the end of the night, he'd managed to make his way, bar by bar, back to his part of town. Away from the respectable façades of the middle class district into the slums. Right where he belonged, he thought, his mind settling once more into its typical resignation. 
> 
> Despite his growing a pair long enough to tell Jonas off, he knew that in the long run there was nothing that he could do for Nancy or Rose. They would be better off if he stayed out of the way. Everyone was always better off if he kept away from them. 
> 
> He didn't remember getting home that night, but that was the way he liked it. That whole day had only served to remind him how much he hated being sober. 
> 
> When he sobered up enough, a week later, he called Jonas' number. He was fairly certain that the woman who answered was Maddy, although, he had never heard her voice before. Once again, he had to know. 
> 
> "Hello?" 
> 
> "This is Doyle, ya know, Jonas'… acquaintance?" 
> 
> "Yes?" 
> 
> "I jus' wanted to know… I mean… well… What 'appened to Nancy? Did she and Rose get out okay?" 
> 
> "Yes. They got out fine. She called us a few day ago to say that they had arrived safely." 
> 
> "What's Jonas gonna do about Dunning and his crew?" 
> 
> "Do? Nothing. What's he supposed to do?" 
> 
> Doyle shrugged, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "I jus' thought… I don't know. Never mind." 
> 
> "His assignment was to help Nancy, that's it. So, that's what he did. Goodbye, Mr. Doyle." 
> 
> "Bye," Doyle mumbled to the now dead line. He didn't call again, not until the next vision struck two weeks later. This time he stayed home. He didn't want to know what happened to the child in his vision. He wouldn't care what happened to any of them anymore. He blessed his new pact with a bottle of tequila.   
  
  
  
  
  
The End… for now   
  
  
  
Inspire me to go on. [Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com][1]   
  
  
  
  
  


   [1]: mailto:Angelos_Girl@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.envy.nu/byersgirl/



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